He looked at the deer for a long moment before he moved again.
The guilt hadn't left. But his stomach ached, and the meat wouldn't keep forever, not without proper handling. He picked the dagger back up, blade still dark with blood, and knelt beside the body.
His hands knew what to do. Where to cut. How deep. The same quiet certainty that had guided him through fire and knots settled into his fingers now, cold and exact. He didn't think about it. He just worked, one motion after another, until the meat was separated and clean.
He carried it back toward the den. He gathered dry branches, stacked them the way he already knew to, and struck a spark using the same friction method from before. It caught fast this time. Smoke rose thin into the grey morning air.
He set the meat over the flame and waited, watching it cook, saying nothing.
The smell hit him harder than he expected. His stomach twisted, sharp and sudden, and for a moment hunger drowned out everything else, even the guilt.
When it was ready, he pulled it off the fire and ate.
The first bite went down too fast. His stomach cramped hard, and he doubled over slightly, breathing through it.
"Slow," he told himself, quiet. "Slow down."
He forced himself to chew longer, to wait between bites. It helped. Barely.
[Note: Rapid intake after prolonged starvation risks gastric distress. Reduce pace.]
He almost laughed. "Now you tell me."
Axiom didn't respond to that. It never did.
He ate the rest slower, and his body settled by the time he finished. Full, for the first time since waking in that cellar. It didn't feel like victory. It just felt like enough.
---
The days after blurred together.
He strengthened the den, packing dry leaves and moss into the gaps to keep the cold out. He checked his snares each morning, resetting the ones that failed, keeping the ones that worked. Small catches. Enough to get by.
His hands stopped shaking as often. The wound at his temple scabbed over, then began to close for good. He could walk longer now without his legs giving out.
One morning, kneeling by the stream to refill on water, he caught his reflection again. Thinner than before, but steadier. Less hollow around the eyes.
"Still here," he said, quiet, mostly to himself.
He stood, and went back to the den, and kept going.